Smoke (30 page)

“Sure I do, but—”

“Here you are at last,” Kate Bourne said, standing in the doorway with her hands on her slim hips. She wore cropped khakis and ballet flats, her hair pulled back the way Carrie wore hers. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Do I know you?” John asked.

“We talked yesterday, remember? About the gala tonight. Oh, Mindy, I didn’t notice you there.”

Mindy wiped the tears from her face. “Why are you looking for Mr. Phillips?”

“I’m picking him up for the Fall Fling. It wasn’t supposed to be my responsibility, as I’m sure you’ll remember, but things being as they are, I thought it was best to take him in hand.”

“But the Fling is hours from now.”

“We’ve got a lot of work to do, haven’t we? Finding him a suit and getting a haircut and, well, just generally getting him cleaned up.”

“You don’t need to talk about me like I’m not here,” John said.

Kate’s face flushed. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine.”

“We should get going, though.”

John looked at Mindy. “You coming with us?”

“I don’t think so.”

He stood up. “I don’t hold with suits.”

Kate’s shoulders rose and fell. The Fall Fling was a black-tie affair. Always had been and always would be, Mindy had heard Kate say more than once. “How about some nice slacks and a shirt? You want to blend in a bit, don’t you?”

“Hard to see how I’ll be blending in.”

“Yes, well, one can hope.”

“Ayuh.”

“Let’s get moving, shall we?”

Mindy stood up as John moved from behind the desk. She wanted to reach out and stop him, but the force that had been propelling her since the day before seemed to have evaporated through her skin.

“Thanks for speaking with me,” she said.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” John said, then followed Kate out the door.

CHAPTER 34

Surveillance

Elizabeth

Ben doesn’t say yes,
but he doesn’t say no either. All he says is that he needs to think about it, and we should return to the house.

We split apart when we get back, me to the bedroom and Ben to the kitchen where his parents are anxiously awaiting the result of our fight. Dispute. Whatever’s going on between us. There is no divorce in the Jansen household—they don’t hold with it. Not that they know that this is where we were (are?) headed, but it must be obvious there’s something wrong. Why else would I keep something we’ve both wanted so much from him, or been so insistent that Grace not tell Ben?

What’s wrong with me, really?

What’s wrong with us?

A wave of nausea sweeps through me, and I sit heavily on the bed. Maybe this will pass, or maybe I should be running to the bathroom in the manner of so many women I’ve seen over the years, on film, in life, in books.

A uniquely female gesture.

I’m part of that now. A pledge to this sorority.

I take a few deep breaths, and the feeling retreats. Sure to return, I know, but I’ll take the momentary reprieve. My phone rattles and hums on the bedside table. Kara’s calling.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“How did you know?”

“I sent you three e-mails, and you didn’t respond.”

“Oh. Ha. Yes. Well. I have some news.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“Yes. You knew?”

“I suspected.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It was not my business to.”

I sigh. “Is that why you called?”

“No. I need you.”

“What’s going on?”

“You haven’t looked at the reports this morning?”

“I’ve been . . . No. Things are worse?”

“We will face the crisis today. And my second has taken ill. I need your assistance.”

I stare at the wall. James McMurtry stares back at me, an old favorite of Ben’s that he’d taken the time to turn from poster to painting.

“I can’t, Kara.”

There’s a long silence on the line. “Ah. It’s like that, is it?”

“I need to make the right choice, for once.”

“I understand.”

Guilt tugs at me. “Is there really no one else? Because if there isn’t, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“No, that’s fine. Andy will do it.”

“Of course. But why didn’t you ask him in the first place?”

“I think you know why.”

In order to avoid going crazy waiting for Ben to give me his answer or constantly checking on the fire, I decide to follow up on a question that should be front and center: How did that video get out? See also: Why didn’t I think to look for it myself?

I go to see Detective Donaldson first. He’s sent me several apoplectic messages that he needs to speak to me ASAP.

When I get to his office, he’s pacing with his cell phone held to his ear.

“Yup. Yup. I know. That’s a short list, and you’re on it. I’m just stating a fact. Yup. Will do.”

He hangs up and runs his hand backward and forward over the top of his head.

“Who were you talking to?” I ask.

He turns around. “You been standing there long?”

“Only a couple of yups.”

“This is not a time to joke. Have you spoken to Rich?”

“No, have you?”

He looks briefly at his phone, then puts it facedown on his desk.

“We have a situation on our hands,” he says. “The leak of that video might cost me my job. So I want to know: How the fuck did that happen?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t even know there was a video. Did you?”

He walks over to his computer and wakes it up. The video’s frozen on his screen at the shot of the four boys and the girl in the square.

“I got it yesterday. I hadn’t worked my way further than this when I interviewed Tucker and Angus.”

“Was this the evidence you mentioned?”

“It was.”

“Why didn’t you show it to them yesterday?”

“I didn’t have time to sit down with the timeline and examine the whole tape to match it up. Besides, that way I got them to commit to their stories. Angus obviously lied.”

“So did Tucker.”

Donaldson shoots me a look. “We don’t know that he’s one of the kids.”

“I’ll bet he is. Has Angus said anything since he was brought in?”

“Nope.”

“What about identifying the others on the tape? They likely had something to do with it.”

“We’re working on that.”

“Any leads?”

He clicked his browser closed. “Not any I’m sharing at the moment.”

“So, what am I supposed to do?”

“How about doing your job while you still have it?”

The
Daily
’s offices are housed on the second floor of one of the older buildings on the town square. The paper does a truncated edition on Sundays, and the newsroom is only half-full. An eager intern points me to the desk I’m looking for.

Joshua Wicks’s workspace is not what I expected. Rather than the sheaves of paper and mad conspiracy wall I’d imagined, there are only two large computer screens and clear surfaces that must be wiped down daily. A prominent bottle of hand sanitizer completes the picture. I watch his hands as they fly over the keys. They are chapped and rough, the hands of a man who washes way too frequently.

He must sense my presence, or perhaps he noticed my reflection in his screen. He turns around. He has a fresh-faced look for a man of thirty-five. In the right clothing, he could easily pass for a high school senior. His dark-brown hair is shaggy, and his matching eyes look tired. He’s been working hard this week.

“Ms. Martin. A pleasure to see you,” he says in his rumbling bass voice.

“I’m sure.”

“You’re here about the video?”

“I am.”

“I’m not going to tell you how I got it.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“A phone call would have sufficed, then.”

“I disagree,” I say. “May I sit?”

He motions toward the edge of his desk, and I take a tenuous perch. He winces. I can only imagine the scrub-down it’s going to receive after I leave.

“So?” he says.

“The town cameras all stream on the
Daily
’s website. Is it recorded here?”

“No. We just host the feed. They’re not actually our cameras.”

“Whose are they?”

“The town’s.”

“So the feed would be recorded on the town’s servers?”

“That’s right.”

“Who has access to those?”

“I’m sure the police can get access. Or your office.”

“Of course. But who usually has access?”

“Normally, that’d just be the town’s IT department.”

“Which is?”

“One guy. But not the droid you’re looking for.”

I shake my head. Men and their
Star Wars
references. Will they never end?

“Am I supposed to take your word on that?”

His eyes blink slowly. “Do what you want.”

“Did you get the footage before it was e-mailed to the town?”

“Nope.”

“Any idea what mailing list was used?”

“Isn’t that something you should know already?”

I give him a look.

“Fine. Whatever. From what I can tell, they used part of the emergency services list.”

“How’d they get that?”

“I can think of a few ways.”

“Care to share?”

“I doubt they’ve got the best security on their servers. And any number of people use that list on a regular basis.”

“So what’s the motive behind sharing the video? Why not just take it to the police?”

He raises his shoulders toward his ears.

I try another tack. “You’ve been getting inside information all week. I know you can’t tell me who it is, but perhaps you can tell me who it isn’t?”

“That’s asking me to do indirectly what I can’t do directly.”

I stand to go. “Had to try.”

“Wouldn’t respect you if you didn’t.”

“Thanks, I think.”

He reached for the bottle of Purell. “I will tell you one thing. I heard your boss is mighty pissed about the release of that video.”

“He hates leaks.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s why.”

CHAPTER 35

Mirror Ball

Elizabeth

The Fall Fling takes place
where it does every year, in an enormous tent set up on a lawn maintained by Parks and Recreation at the foot of Nelson Peak. Nelson’s Central Park, it’s the setting for concerts, fireworks, Shakespeare on the Lawn, anything we can pack into an outdoor setting in the short months when things can be reliably planned in the open. Usually, it merely affords a beautiful view of the hill in its summer green splendor. Tonight, though, it might be a front-row seat to the end of, well, everything, really.

Before we got off the line, I asked Kara if the event should be cancelled. She sighed heavily and told me how she’d tried to convince the town to do that to no avail. The show will go on, only this time it will be guarded by fire trucks and the same spaghetti of yellow hoses that surround my house, valuable resources that should be deployed elsewhere but, in classic Nelson fashion, are being diverted from need to want.

But who am I to judge, here in my heavy ball gown, quickly let out to hide my expanding middle and my larger-than-usual breasts? The car I’m climbing out of cost more than most make in a year, me included. And the tickets for this event are something outside of any reasonable budget, paid for, like my dress, by Ben’s parents.

“Are you feeling all right?” Ben asks, placing his hand on the small of my back. It’s the same temperature as the smoky night, but my skin reacts through the silky fabric. A shiver. A flush. Ben still makes me feel this way.

“What are we doing here?”

Ben looks into the tent as his parents leave us to greet friends. He surveys the round tables covered in snow-white linen, the silver place settings glinting in the votive-infused light. There’s a string quartet playing near the entrance and a DJ set up on the stage. Everyone is dressed in black tie and ball gowns, ignoring the haze that surrounds them. There are enough flowers in the room to nearly kill the smell of smoke. Suspended from the ceiling is something that looks very much like Chihuly’s glass blossom sculpture that hangs in the Bellagio’s lobby in Las Vegas. I know it can’t be real, but it’s a damn good facsimile.

“Because of the fire?” he says.

He’s wearing a well-cut black suit and a silky black tie. It makes him look thinner, younger, almost movie-star good-looking, and several women have already thrown him appreciative glances. Ben gave me one himself when I came out of his room an hour ago. He’d tucked a loose strand of hair that was already escaping from my attempt at a chignon and said, “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“Among other things,” I say now.

Last time I checked, the satellite showed a few clouds looming on the horizon, though it’s impossible to see them through the low-level fug that’s hanging over us. I feel claustrophobic and nervous, a feeling that’s not helped by the nearly constant roar of aircraft above us dumping their contents on the just-out-of-sight flames. The plume of smoke behind the Peak is still blazing straight up to the sky, but it’s so much closer now. Based on what Kara told me, it must have reached the firebreak.

“We fiddle while Rome burns,” I say. “Emperor Nero would approve.”

“I think he was playing a lyre . . .”

I smack him in the arm. “Stop showing off.”

He grins. “Our countrymen await.”

He leads me into the tent, and we check out the board that contains the seating plan. We’re at table three, in the first row to the right of the stage, in front of the plastic panoramic windows that provide a view of the Peak. They’ve turned on the night-skiing lights, and they glow dimly against the fading sky.

We stand in front of the window for a moment, looking out, looking up. If I close my eyes, I could be there with the crews. Manning a hose, raking the ground, lost in the smoke. Perhaps Ben senses this, and it’s why he isn’t saying anything. A test of my new resolve. I don’t like to be tested, but if I want a future with him, I have to walk away from my past.

I turn my back on the fire and spend the next hour with Ben, weaving through the cocktail hour, brief traces of kisses being left on my cheek. There is much talk of what’s happening on the Peak, of course, a few nervous glances toward the windows, but also of other, mundane things. We are invincible, of course, money being the ultimate shield against real harm.